


Son of Aslan

by miladys-winter (lykxxn)



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Gen, Narnia crossover, Religious Imagery, how I have missed you, it shouldn't have taken me this long to get this done, oh musketeers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-10 22:30:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7010983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lykxxn/pseuds/miladys-winter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis thinks that he has found his solace in the monastery. Aslan has other plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Son of Aslan

Aramis's first night in the monastery is a fitful and restless one. When morning finally comes, he is more than exhausted. After dressing in his robes, he leaves the room he has spent the night in and makes his way towards the dining room.

How  _odd_ , he thinks. The corridor didn't look like that last night.  _Maybe the night distorted things_ , he thinks, more rationally. That must be the answer. He walks down more and more corridors, all quite unlike the ones he walked down yesterday but with an odd sense of familiarity. It is almost as if he has walked these corridors before, although he cannot think  _when_. 

He leaves through the nearest door, and instead of a courtyard, Aramis is stood in a rich, green field. Only he is sure it is not a field, for it goes on and on and on until Aramis cannot see any further. Hills meet the horizon where the sun is slowly peeking up, and when he turns to face the monastery, Aramis gapes in surprise.

He is not stood in front of the monastery anymore. He isn't even sure he was  _in_ the monastery. A great castle stands high above him, and the name stands on the tip of his tongue; he has been here before, he can feel it in his bones, but time has ensured that he has forgotten its name.  _What a shame_ , he thinks.  _I would like to have remembered this place_.

All sense of wondering how or when he will get back to the monastery has left him. In all honesty, Aramis would not mind never going back to the monastery if he could stay here. He thinks he would like to stay here forever if he could. He looks at the castle again, wanting nothing more than to remember.

_A small boy crawled into his wardrobe one night, afraid of the monsters hiding under his bed. He didn't think there were any monsters in the wardrobe._

_He stood in a field in nothing but his nightclothes, shivering in the dark. He made his way over a large field towards a castle, where it looked like there might be someone home._

_A Queen with gentle eyes and fair hair picked him up and took him to warmth and safety, and told him stories about the Kings and Queens of Old, and of the Great Lion, Aslan._

"Narnia," says Aramis breathlessly, suddenly understanding. If this is Narnia, then he is stood by— "Cair Paravel."

"Indeed, it is," says a voice of such nobility and gentility that Aramis need not ask who it is. He already knows.

"Aslan," he greets and bows down to the Great Lion. "I am honoured. But why am I here? You told me that I would only return to Narnia if it had need of me."

"That is true," says the Great Lion. "But I have called you here to speak with you. I did not think it would be too much trouble."

"None at all, Aslan."

"Then we may begin." Aslan bows his head as Aramis raises one hand; although he knows better and that the Lion is not tame, he cannot help but stroke him as he did all those years ago. "Why did you join the monastery?"

Aramis starts in surprise. He wants to ask how Aslan knows, but Aslan seems to know everything. Nothing passes the Lion's all-seeing eyes. "I am closest to God there," he answers.

The Great Lion nods in understanding. "Do you speak with Him?"

"Oh yes, Aslan," says Aramis. "I speak with Him daily."

"Do you remember what the Queen called you, when you first came to Narnia?"

Aramis has to think for a minute before he gets his answer. "A Son of Adam?"

And just like that, it all clicks into place.

For the first time in his life, he understands what — _who_ — Aslan is. The man who he has been seeking answers and understanding from is right in front of him, and has been since he was six.

And He smiles, in his lion-like way, and Aramis no longer sees the Great Lion but his God, in a form that has comforted many a young child throughout the years. "Aramis, the monastery is not your place," He says. "I thought that you had seen that. When you were here you always wanted to be a soldier, isn't that right?"

"Y-yes, my Lord, I—"

"Do not grovel, Aramis," says Aslan —  _says God?_ — and He stares down at the boy He had once known, "it is not becoming of a musketeer."

"I am not a musketeer," says Aramis, biting his tongue. He does not wish to correct Aslan, but He is wrong. "I am a monk now."

"You have chosen the wrong path, Aramis. You will never be satisfied as a monk, believe me, my son. You must rejoin your ranks as a musketeer," and then Aslan stopped, perhaps thinking. "Not yet, my son. They do not have need of you yet, much like Narnia. When they have need of you, they shall call you, much like I have, and you will join them."

Aramis does not agree, but here Aslan's word is law, and he figures that if Aslan and God are the same, then His words must be law in Aramis's world too. 

"Son of Aslan," and the words break Aramis's thoughts, "you are tired. You must sleep, for our visit is over."

The Lion lays on the grass, and Aramis leans on his side, watching the sun rise. Cair Paravel stands tall to his left, and the never-ending waters to his right. "Aslan," he murmurs, for a strange sleep is beginning to overwhelm him, and he while he wants nothing more than to succumb to it, there is still one question he wants to ask, "will I ever come back?"

He is asleep before the Lion has chance to answer.

Aramis knows the answer is no; maybe he always has done. And so maybe that is why he isn't surprised to wake up in the monastery, the sun still rising and even so, a slight disappointment deep in the pit of his stomach.

For five years, Aslan's son waits and waits. And the day he is called, he goes without a second thought.


End file.
